


Demons and Zombies

by levi2207



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Action & Romance, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jason Todd, Bad mother worse than previously thought, Big Brother Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heather Chandler Lives, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Post RHATO 25, Swearing, acquisition of sister, we're in for a wild ride after rhato 25
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levi2207/pseuds/levi2207
Summary: Escaping Batman's clutches after the shooting of the penguin. Jason comes upon a piece of information regarding his birth mother that shatters any and all faith he has left in the bats.Now, he's faced with a few difficult facts of life. School's not as fun as he remembers. There is something gnawing at the edge of his soul.And he has a sister?
Comments: 20
Kudos: 142





	1. A wake up call.

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone, after honestly way too long I have finally done what I'd promised all these months ago, the first chapted of "of hoods and scrunchies' rewrite is out. I hope it was worth the wait

"t̸o̵o̴ ̶g̵o̵d̶ ̸d̴a̸m̷n̴e̶d̴ ̶e̵a̷-̶"

"-hat, I'm efficiënt"

ẅ̸͈͇a̶̡̜̱͑͌͝s̸̫̻̟̲̊ ̵̧̺̺͖͠h̴̞̟̪́̚ę̷̻͚͊̓̄̿ ̴̧̳̍̋͘p̸̛͖̘̥̰̈́́ų̴̫̀͐͑ͅs̸͖̀̎ȟ̷͈̙̗̅͐̚ē̶̍͑̚d̶̰̽"?"

"f̸̡̥̙̈́ǫ̸̺̮͛r̶͔̐̅è̶̬̳ḩ̷̱̤̕ǎ̴̺̫̌n̷͈͎̱͌̿̂̾d̷͈̦̈́ ̶̹̆͒o̵̟̟̳̻̔̍͋̕r̸̖̞̾̈́̐̓ ̸̛͚͙͊̑̚b̷̢͉̟̓͒ȁ̴̭͌͆͑c̸̹̞̈̍͒k̸͚̃h̸̨̪̻̤̃̅a̵̯̯̾̆͝-̷̢͛̏̓"

"n̵o̸t̵ ̵y̷o̴u̷r̵ ̷f̵a̸t̴h̷e̵r"

"I was a fool for ever trusting you"

"BIZ, ARTEMIS!!!"

Jason's eyes shot open, darting around the room, breathing erratic and heart pounding. He sighed to himself, "another nightmare" he growled mentally, as he tried to pushing himself out of his bed.

What a mistake that ended up being.

Jason moved his right arm about half an inch before a soundless gasp of pain spilled from his lips, Jason felt himself becoming more and more awake by the second. And he kinda wished he'd stayed asleep, everything hurt. He could feel cracked bones and torn muscles all over his body, he felt as if he'd gone 12 rounds with bane. groaning he looked around the room a bit. Finding it coming up remarkably short on things that he owned. Where was the bookshelf he'd built into two of the walls, where was his nightstand that his helmet usually rested on? Hell, he couldn't even feel the pistol under his pillow and.... Was that an IV drip? Jason blinked once, twice. Just to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but sure enough. There was an IV drip  
Connected to his arm. 

What?

Suddenly two voices rang out against the silence, Tim he recognised the other.... Bruce.

His eyes widened.

The cave.

He was in the batcave.

Everything came rushing back all at once.

The papers, Willis, Penguin, Bruce, no. Batman hunting him down after he'd put a bullet in penguin's eye. The subsequent beating, the bat suddenly disappearing and him looking up at..

Bizarro

Jason struggled not to cry out in fury. They were gone, weren't they? After that Bruce had found him again, and even more viciously than before he'd beat Jason. Who hadn't even been fighting back, he remembered his arm snapping like his twig. He remembered his sternum cracking as a steel toed boot smashed into it, he remembered it all. 

He remembered the back of his head connecting with the floor and everything going dark.

Bruce's voice rang out through the cave again, setting ablaze a fire in Jason's heart. Slowly he pushed himself up off the operating table he'd been laying on, carefully removing the drip from his right arm. Taking care not to disturb the damaged limb if he could possibly help it. 

When he finally took a look at what the commotion was all about, his mouth dropped suprise at the scene playing out in front of him

Tim Drake, red robin. Was furious, yelling and shouting at Bruce, who appeared to be returning the sentiment with a cold dispassionate stare so very indicative of the fact that it wasn't Bruce Tim was raging against, it was Batman

Right in the center of it all stood Dick "nightwing" Grayson, trying to mediate as only he ever tried to.

focussing on the conversation Jason's eyes widened even further

Tim was defending him?

"-don't care what rules he broke Bruce, what you did was way beyond necessary, hell. It was beyond acceptable!" despite the situation, Jason found a bit of warmth blossom up in him as he heard Tim defend him

"Tim, calm down, let's talk about this please?" That made Jason roll his eyes, so very typical of the golden child.

Tuning out the rest of the conversation for now, Jason's eyes scoured the cave for where his.... THERE!

His helmet was laid out on the table.

Right next to where they were arguing

"Great" he muttered "well, in for a penny, in for a pound" he mused. Carefully swinging himself to the side and slinking off of the hospital bed he'd been laid out on, almost falling flat on his face in the process.

The reason? Well, reasons really.

One, his ankle had most definitely been twisted, if not broken. Two, he was handcuffed to the operating table. His broken arm no less, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from crying out as he dangled there from his broken arm. 

"fuck that hurts!" he yelled in his mind, again he turned his attention to the offending piece of metal, groaning as he saw the thing's state. "How did I miss this?" he whispered to himself, taking a good look at the cuff. was one of the bat's custom handcuffs, you could take a sledgehammer to these and there wouldn't be a dent to show for it.

Which left him only one option if he was gonna get out of here.

The all blades....

muttering curses in his head he summoned one, an intricately detailed knife of swirling silver.  
Sliding it between his skin and the cuff before cutting through the metal. 

He counted his lucky stars that those conditions to summoning his blades no longer had any effect after  
he'd mastered all the all caste's teachings. Because he was pretty sure handcuffs were pretty low on the list of pure evil

Now he just needed to get to the helmet, and the transponder Roy had built for him, something he'd reasoned being far more useful than the C4 he'd previously kept packed in there. If he could activate that, he could call in a boom tube to Outcast island,  


turning around as fast he could he caught a pair of eyes trained on him, soon followed by two others. Filled with three different emotions.

Tim's were full of sadness and anger, Dick's were filled with regret and disappointment. Bruce's on the other hand were unreadable.

\--moments earlier, Bruce--

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tim, listen to me, the red hood and I had a deal, he could operate in Gotham if he didn't kill. Those were the conditions, you saw what happened with penguin!" Tim's eyes widened in outrage, and he was sure that if Dick hadn't put himself inbetween the two of them that Tim would have swung at him.

Instead he glared at Bruce as if he was the lowest trash in the world, Bruce simply returned the glare.

"That's not the problem here Bruce, and you know it" Tim snarled out "Taking him down, that I get, BEATING HIM LIKE THAT?!" he suddenly roared, trying to push past Dick 

Bruce's eyes narrowed "I did what was necessary, and I will not be lectured on how to operate in MY CITY" 

both Tim and Dick froze, Dick looked at him in shock. Whilst Tim simply stared at him, as if unable to understand what had just been said

"I don't care what rules he broke Bruce, what you did was beyond necessary, hell. It was beyond acceptable!" Bruce bristled at the accusation, but his rebuttal was cut off when Dick once again put himself between the two of them

"Tim, calm down, let's talk about this please?" The older boy pleaded

Drake didn't even look at him

"Broken humerus, twisted ankle, seven fractured ribs, 6 broken fingers. multiple hairline fractures across every single limb. And that's just the body" Tim grit out, glaring at him "His neck was basically torn to shreds by the shrapnel from his helmet and he's got multiple deep cuts on his face, not to mention the fucking concussion and damage to his spine. If you'd kicked him a little harder he'd be LAYING IN A MORGUE." Tim shoved the file he'd been carrying in Bruce's arms, having pushed past Dick who was staring at him in horror.

His sense of dread grew with every injury Tim spat out, he'd been beyond furious at Jason when he'd gone after him. He'd planned everything out in his head, how he'd incapacitate Jason, what his ultimatum would be, how he'd deal with Jason choosing to accept or not. But it's as they say, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

"he's an enemy now is he?" a voice in his head spat at him, and he felt ashamed, looking back to when he'd intercepted Jason, barreling off of that rooftop 

"we gonna do this again, old man?" That sentence had sent him over the edge, and he'd thrown every single plan out the window. 

"I've never seen you hit joker that hard, and you hate him" Made something in him boil over, and he'd wanted to make it hurt, to make Jason listen for once.

The realization almost knocked him off of his feat. 

There was no excuse, none.

He'd done all that to Jason, by his own volition.

His son....

something inside him slithered into his thoughts, and suddenly every single emotion. The sheer disgust he felt towards himself, died down. The red hood, not Jason had shot Penguin. Batman had intervened, and apprehended the criminal. That's what had happened tonight, nothing more. Nothing less.

"Why am I just now getting an update?" Bruce asked, tone flat

Tim didn't reply, opting to continue glaring at him instead. 

Which meant he was hiding something.

closing the file and laying it back down on the table, he took a quick look at the broken red helmet laying on the table right next to it, before turning his attention back to Tim.

"How is it, that your report states that when brought in, the red hood had upwards of twenty broken bones, but the current finding show only a single broken bone?" Tim's eyes widened minutely

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, his eyes instantly snapped towards the source of the movement. Only to meet the red hoo-

"being robin gives me magic" echoed in his mind. 

And everything came swelling back.

Bruce stared at Jason's form not comprehending the state of his second oldest, vaguely noticing the others turning around too, eyes scrutinizing every part of the hoo- Jason.

What he saw sickened him, Jason stood on unsteady feet, one arm hanging limply at his side, the parts of him that were visible, meaning his chest. Where he'd ripped the bat symbol off of his outfit, his face and neck were covered in dried blood. A ghastly visage if ever there was one.

By all rights he shouldn't even be standing right now, finally he looked Jason in the eyes.

Jason's deep blue eyes didn't meet his. 

Toxic green orbs, filled with such hatred he felt a chill down his spine stared down at him. The pit, Bruce realized almost instantly, cursing himself for not having connected everything earlier.

Deep down however, he knew why. He'd never wanted to question why Jason had returned. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, the thought almost made him chuckle in sadness... Look how that had turned out. 

"Jason" Bruce tried

The name being spoken had an instant effect, Jason's body stiffened. A deer caught in the headlights, somehow those toxic green orbs seemed to glow even brighter, no longer really looking at well... anything it seemed.

Soulless, that's what they looked like.

God, what had he done? Bruce asked himself.

Finally they seemed to focus on something, Bruce followed their line of sight.

Jason's helmet, laid on the table next to him, the one that was packed full of high explosives...

"Shit" Bruce cursed to himself as Jason started to move

Jason bolted, surprising the three of them, even in his state it took him only two seconds to cross the twenty yards to the table.

Bruce crossed the distance between himself and the helmet in one and a half. Grabbing the helmet off the table and turni-

THUNK

Bruce's whole body shuddered from the impact of Jason's fist crashing down onto his skull. The next moment he found himself pinned to the steel table, Jason's good hand clenched around his throat tightly enough to make him worry Jason was gonna crush his windpipe.

"Bruce" Jason said, almost growling out the word.

The last thing Bruce saw was Jason's right arm, the one he'd broken come raise up.

Half a second later Jason's fist connected, and everything went black.

Time seemed to stop in the cave as Bruce's body slumped, falling to the floor. Tim and Dick were frozen in shock as Jason looked at them, eyes glowing a baleful green as his chest heaved in protest. Nobody dared move for a few seconds, before Jason fell forward. Eyes blinking rapidly, suddenly the glow was gone as Jason collapsed, catching himself by his right forearm on the cool metal on the table as blood spilled from between his lips. A wet cough wracking his body, almost sending him to the ground.

Tim and Dick rushed forward, both with a different target, where the older man stopped to check up on Bruce's vitals. Pressing two fingers to check the batman's pulse. Tim rushed to grab a chair and carefully yet forcefully shoved Jason into it, lest he collapse and damage himself further.

Dick spoke again, tone filled with anger "Tim, keep an eye on him" he said, dragging their adoptive father onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry "I'll deal with him after checking Bruce's vitals"

"There's no need master Grayson" a monotone voice spoke from the entrance to the manor, which had both Dick and Tim's head snapping up, there stood Alfred Pennyworth, looking impeccable as ever, a silver tray in one hand and a slightly furrowed brow. 

"Master Bruce here has not sustained any harm grievous enough to warrant use of the cave's medical facilities, therefore it would be best if he were to simply be placed in bed in order to sleep off the damage he sustained." the old butler said as he descended down the stairs

"But" Dick tried to argue, only for Alfred to hold up his hand, silencing the young man "Master Grayson, I saw what happened just now and I can assure you, master Bruce has often insisted him being in no need of the medical facilities down here even when all but falling apart. A slight headache tomorrow is all the lasting effect that blow will bestow upon him."

Tim cringed "that's gonna be one hell of a headache" Alfred inclined his head "Quite so master Timothy, which is why I ask you that as master Grayson carries master Bruce to his room, I can count on you to look for some painkillers in the kitchen cabinet and deliver them to his room." Tim hesitated, prompting the elderly butler to raise an eyebrow

"Is there something you wish to tell me, master Timothy?"

"uh.. Which kitchen cabinet?" Tim sheepishly began, cringing when the butler's eye got a dangerous glint to it. "I seem to recall you being quite apt at detective work, surely a mere kitchen cabinet will be child's play?"

Tim nodded almost frantically "alright, let's go"

Jason vaguely saw the commotion of Dick and Tim carrying Bruce up the stairs from the corner of his eye, the moment the door shut the signature clacking of Alfred's shoes upon the concrete floor echoed through the cave, taking a seat opposite of Jason, even though Jason was a lot taller taller and almost a full hundred pounds heavier, the older man's stare was enough to make him feel like he was 13 again and he'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Using his good arm to wipe any excess blood from his lips, Jason's eyes met Alfred's as he with some difficulty pushed himself upright in his seat.

"Alfie" Jason tried

"Master Jason" Alfred's tone had a cold sweat run down Jason's spine "I am so very disappointed in you" Jason's shoulders slumped as he heard that.

"I know" the old man's eyebrow shot up up, questioningly. "Oh, but do you perchance know why that is?" Jason turned away, ignoring the ache in his body as he tore his gaze away from Alfred.

"Same reason as everyone else I guess" he said after a few moments "I killed someone, and bats don't kill" The latter part came out almost mockingly

"I fought in the second world war" Alfred said "A fact many of you seem to forget, so killing someone, or well. Trying to kill someone does factor into it,however that is not the reason why"

"The reason is, master Jason. You came back" Jason's eyes widened, as he looked at alfred "what?" he hissed, pushing himself up, knocking the steel chair aside "Because I came back?! what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" tears began to prick at his eyes "I mean shit Alfie, I know I'm not the kid you all lost, that's been made clear to me time and time again, bu-"

Suddenly Alfred shot up from his chair, expression thunderous as he slammed his hands down onto the table "that is quite ENOUGH young man" Alfred said, raising his voice. Shocking Jason into silence long enough for the old man to stride around the table and carefully pull Jason's larger bulk into a gentle yet firm hug. 

After a few second, Alfred stepped away, "Listen to me my boy, Never. and I mean Never. Allow yourself to think those thoughts, you are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"What I meant by that is, you came back to Gotham." Jason must have looked ready to offer a rebuttal since Alfred held up his hand to silence it "You have often claimed this was more your city that it was ever master Bruce's. That is not something I will confirm nor deny, what I do know is this. You have, from a young age. Seen the very worst humanity has had to offer. The fact that place did not turn you into something which you and bruce both fight, attests to your strength of will." 

Alfred looked almost guilty as he said the next words "That does not mean you have not been affected by that place, I saw it more and more as you grew up. That anger at the world, the frustration at your inability to help people, the hatred for those who wrong those less fortunate than themselves, as they did to you, that never went away. Master Jason, If anything it grew, I don't think you've ever realized this. But your fight has never been the same as master bruce- or any of the others" 

"Your fight has always been for this world's people, first and foremost. And that is something I am so very proud of" Tears trickled down Jason's cheeks. Though he made no move to wipe them off, enraptured by Alfred's monologue.

"When word got out that you had formed your own team, and had begun to travel around the world, though I cannot say I agree with many of your methods. I was proud, because I thought you had finally left the part of you that Gotham had tainted behind, that you'd realized you can do so much more out there than in this city" Alfred's face turned sombre "But then, you came back. And though nobody has said it aloud, we all knew it was simply a matter of time before something like this happened" The butler gestured at Jason's blood soaked form: 

"Both of you are simply too much alike" Alfred started. Jason bristled, taking a shaky step back. "No we're not, I am NOTHING like him."

"Do you know why master Bruce chose a bat?" Alfred inquired, Jason nodded "They scared him right? something about owning up to your fear, though I do not see what this has to do with me?"

Alfred pointed at his left in response. Looking down to find, to his surprise. The remains of his helmet still clenched tightly within its grip.

"Yes, you two are very much alike, but there is one difference. You were able to do what master Bruce could not, even if it was temporary. You were able to move on, to get away from the cold desolate place that is this city, you were making your own way through life. that is why I am disappointed you came back"

"So, what are ya suggesting Alfie?" Jason asked, finally deciding to wipe the salty tracks from his cheeks. Alfred's hand found his shoulder again, and he felt a tug on his hand as the butler's own gloved hand gave a slight tug on his helmet. As he let go of the hood he could see a small smile adorn Alfred's features.

Master Bruce shall fight for this city till the day it kills him.” As he said the words, Alfred seemed to age ten years in mere moments "It is an... unfortunate truth that I have come to live with, however. It needn't be the fate of the rest of you." Alfred said. "I remember you before..... I remember a child who very much loved cooking, you are in fact the only one who has ever amounted to anything in the kitchen" Both of them chuckled at that, "I also remember you reading as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. I remember you rambling off aspirations and dreams by the volume. That Jason, that boy." Alfred gave his arm a firm squeeze "And the young man standing in front of me right now. Are still very much one and the same. And don't you dare forget it."

"You have a full life ahead of you, master Jason" Alfred said "Make the most of it.

A shaky smile grew on Jason’s lips. “Alright Alfie,sounds like a plan.”


	2. choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back after four months of fucking nothing? THIS GUY
> 
> Look, I can't really get around the fact I kinda dropped off the radar for a while, but I'm back now and I'll be trying to make more consistent updates to this fanfic, which I am going to finish.
> 
> I'd also like to introduce you all to stormyskiesahead the person who's been a gigantic help by helping with the plot and editing the fic. I'd highly reccomend you all check out her page as she's a better writer than me by a long shot.

"Rewind." 

"Rewind."

"Rewind."

Fifty-six times.

That was how many times Bruce was certain he'd rewatched the footage, sat there with his cowl down in the gloom of the batcave, the various monitors the only source of light as he analyzed the footage again and again. Alfred would've probably scolded him, probably something about it being bad for his eyes. A hint of a smile passed over his features.

That same beam of light lit up the many screens of the batcomputer again. His smile dropped.

"Jason."

The name, and the person attached to it, made a myriad of emotions blossom up in Bruce's chest.

Anger, sadness, exasperation, fury, longing-and guilt.

"Rewind," he called out once more, playing over the footage again. The sight playing out still saddened him, even after the dozens of times he'd watched it. He could probably recite every line Alfred had said to Jason.

His lips quirked upwards once more as the man he saw as a father hugged his wayward son. Watching Alfred, who was by no means a small man fail to fully wrap his arms around Jason should've been comical. He'd been so small, and now he was as big as Bruce, if not bigger.

All it did, though, was stab at his heart.

He watched the embrace end, a few more words being spoken. He watched as Jason slipped on the cracked hood, and watched with disgust as Jason limped himself a few feet away from Alfred before uttering a phrase.

That phrase, not really a phrase actually. Four little words, that might have hurt most of all.

"Activate protocol: Homeward Bound" Jason's voice echoed through the speakers.

The unspoken meaning was clear, and it made Bruce want to scour the globe, drag him back to the manor and tell him that he was wrong. 

That he belonged with the rest of his children, that there would always be a place for him, that the manor's doors would never be shut to him, and his room would always be available.

"Rewind."

His eyes scanned over the footage once more, stopping on the moment he and the others had spotted Jason. Bruce was sure he'd see those baleful eyes in his dreams  
till the day he died.

Resuming the footage Bruce watched Jason bolt, the speed at which he did still baffled him, nobody that wounded should be able to move that quickly. He winced as he saw his past self rush to intercept the wounded vigilante. He'd thought Jason was making a dash towards a bomb.

Where had Jason even gone? Bruce had expected him to lay low for a few weeks, a month at best. 

Six had passed, and still- nothing.

\--Remington College, Ohio--

This really was his life, now wasn't it?

Jason often wondered if whoever called the shots up there had it out for him, the evidence was there after all. But times like these solidified the fact that whichever divine being (or beings) presided over those pearly gates, they really loved shitting in his cornflakes.

"God fuckin’ damn it," he grumbled to himself as he wandered aimlessly through the hallways, taking a right and heading down another hallway housing a few jocks and a girl in a slayer T-shirt he was pretty sure he'd passed three times already.

'If Timbers could see me now,' he thought to himself. The red hood, a figure that made warlords and drug barons alike shit themselves in fear... lost in a fucking hallway on the first day of school.

Coming to another intersection, he pondered his options as he absentmindedly scratched the stubble on his chin. Changing up his look had been important, he reckoned, seeing as his mug had been all over TV when he went after Cobblepot. He was pretty sure Babs had scrubbed the footage, but one could never be too safe. So he'd opted on growing a bit of stubble on his face, another change he'd made- one he minded a lot more, if he was honest, was stopping the dyeing of his hair. It was still black as could be but proudly contrasted against the messy black locks was a patch of snowy white locks. Jason didn't much like looking at them- bad memories and all that- but it worked.

Now, if only he could find his damn classroom.

"Uh ex-excuse me?" Jason's head snapped to the direction of the sound, blue eyes locking onto a small brunette with glasses. 

From the way she flinched back he must have subconsciously been scowling. Alfred had always said a first impression mattered. So, he quickly donned a slight smile and held out his hand.

"Jason Peters," he said as the brunette slowly took his hand, shoulders sagging as she seemed to become more at ease.

"Martha Dunnstock," she replied, "I noticed you coming around here... a lot, you walked through this same hallways like 5 times" Jason was pretty sure he felt a vein burst as that particular fact became apparent.

"FUCK!" he swore, causing the bru-Martha- to quite literally jump a good three feet in the air.... along with what seemed like half the hallway.

Alfred would've been pissed.

"Sorry," he sheepishly held up his hands. "Just, do you know where English Literature is, can't find the classroom," she seemed to pale slightly at that, eyes constantly darting between him and something behi-

Oh.

"The class is right behind me, isn't it?" he said, sounding so, so defeated. The brunette nodded, looking at him with pity. 

"Hey, at least you're on time?" she tried, flashing an awkward smile at him.

"What?" 

"Yeah, class starts in about- ooh the door just opened, better get there fast or the good seats will be taken." 

Jason nodded robotically, before spinning on his heel and looking straight into a very open door. Currently with a gray haired teacher standing in the doorway, greeting students as they entered.

Muttering a soft thanks, he made his way into the class, a singular thought in his mind.

"Fuck today."

\--meanwhile--

Martha Dunnstock had, quite frankly, loathed Westerburg High. The constant bullying, the horrid teachers and the overall miserable place had really taken a toll on her over the years, therefore despite all the times Veronica had warned her about Remington being as much, if not more so. A den of snakes then Westerburg, she couldn't help but feel much more at ease,even though she was mildy terrified roaming through the unfamiliar hallways. Than she ever had when still attending Westerburg.

Hell, she'd even had a conversation with someone without them making fun of her, which was a pleasant surprise. What was his name again? oh yeah Ja-

Clack. Clack. clack clack clack

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as that all too familiar sound echoed out through the now very silent hallway, Martha looked around and recognised almost all of them, they'd all been attendees of Westerburg the year prior, and fear dawned on each and every single one of their faces as that familiar clacking drew closer.

It took only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity, before *she* rounded the corner.

That same blonde hair, the blazing red blazer and checkered skirt, those piercing blue eyes and red scrunchie

Heather Chandler, the demon queen of high school rounded the corner and came to a stop at the end of the hallway.

Everyone seemed to spring back into action, trying to make themselves as small as possible as Chandler stood there, hands on her hips, her predatory gaze scanning over everyone, like a lion searching for a weak link in a herd of wildebeest.

Finally those cold blue eyes locked on someone, Martha wondered who the pour soul.... Heather was looking at her, HEATHER WAS LOOKING AT HER

Martha tried to block out the sound of impending doom, it was a sound very similair to several hundred dollar heels tapping against a cheap floor, coming closer and closer as  
she turned back to her locker

"Dunnstock" it wasn't even said at anything above normal speaking volume. And yet it seemed to echo off the halls and pound into her eardrums.

'at least she called me by my actual name this time' Martha thought, deciding to take whatever she could get as she spun around to face Heather.

Now Heather wasn't a particularly tall girl, standing at 5'6" a scant three inches taller than Martha... without the four inch heels, making it so the queen bee felt like she positively loomed over her as she squeaked out a response "H-hi Heather, can I help you"

"As a matter of fact, yes. You can help me" That somewhat piqued Martha's interest.

“Would you happen to know where this class is?” Heather took out her phone, showing Martha the class she was supposed to be at. Martha nodded. “Sure, it's that door on the other side of the hallway. You see, the one with the teacher standing in the doorway.”

Heather looked to where Martha was pointing to see that yes, there was in fact an old teacher standing in a wide open doorway, not fifty feet from them.

“Right.” Heather nodded, and begrudgingly, and with great difficulty forced a very quiet “Thank you,” From between her lips, before quickly storming off towards the classroom.

“I deserve a fuckin medal for that, Veronica,” she growled under her breath as she walked past the teacher, ignoring his greeting. Honestly did Veronica even know how hard it is for her to even acknowledge these losers?! She had standards god damn it, and what’s even up with Veronica singling her out anyway? It's not as if Duke and Mcnamara are paragons of virtue themselves.

“At least try Heather, for me. Please?” Heather sighed as the image of Veronica begging her resurfaced in her mind’s eye. Veronica was just too good at giving her those puppy ey-

Heather’s eyes widened as she caught sight of a familiar face sitting in the lecture hall. 

No. no no nono.

This was bad, really bad. Heather froze for a split second as her mind ground to a halt, before realizing that all eyes were on her. If they sensed a weakness they’d be on her like a pack of piranhas. 

“Shoulders straight, chest forward,” she reminded herself, moving up the rows to that familiar face, he hadn’t even noticed her yet it seemed. Too busy watching out the window.

Finally she made it to the uppermost row, where he sat in the very corner, his head only turned when she was about four seats away from him.

“Name’s Jason Peters, what’s you-” He stopped mid sentence as he realized just who stood in front of him.

“What are you doing here?!” Heather hissed at him, earning a surprised look.

“I’m studying here, what do you mean?”  
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here, in this classroom?”

“Because I’m studying English Literature” was his reply, incidentally- it was probably the single worst case scenario in Heather’s mind.

“Are you actually kidding me, are you that despe-” He held out a hand then, cutting her off mid sentence.

“How was I supposed to know? Last I checked our previous and only meeting ended with you basically telling me you wanted nothing to do with me. I had no idea so over yourself.” Jason was fully glaring back at her

Heather truly had no retort for that, instead meeting his glare with equal ferocity. “Just remember what I said.” she bit off, turning on her heel and walking back down the row.

“I know I know, you want nothing to do with me. fair enough sis.” He muttered, Heather froze in her tracks, looking at him over her shoulder.

That wasn’t right… was it? Had he seen that correctly?

She looked, for lack of a better word, scared. 

She glanced at him for barely a second, before turning back around, moving down the rows and placing herself smack dab in the center of the hall. Soon enough people began flocking around her, he kept watching her from the corner of his eye. Yet not once did he catch her looking back.

\--2 months prior--

Heather’s day had, by all accounts, gone pretty well. Summer vacation was always a blast, and the Heathers (and Veronica) had spent the prior night at Mcnamara's house, drinking cheap alcohol and watching bad movies. She’d originally planned on driving Veronica home later in the day, probably after hitting up the mall first. Even after spending a full year with the Heathers there was still a lot to be improved on when it came to Veronica’s fashion choices.

Her parents had thrown a wrench in that particular plan.

Normally they couldn’t care less about where she was, as long as she kept her grades up, a laughably easy task, and as long as she didn’t get in trouble with the law, which luckily she’d managed to avoid. On the off chance the four of them did get in trouble, well, Duke’s father was in charge of Sherwood’s police department, so they’d never gotten more than a “don't do it again”

Chandler idly wondered what reason her father could have for calling her. Maybe he’d finally caved in on that necklace she’d been asking about, she’d “misplaced” the previous one. Pulling into the driveway she noticed something off, a bike- a pretty fancy one, if the general look of the bike was anything to go by, all chrome and carbon. A dull black with a singular bright red stripe running along its center.

Had her parents gotten a new gardener or something? She wondered for a few moments.

‘Whatever’ she shrugged, walking into the house. She didn't even bother announcing herself. The clacking of her heels upon the estate’s marble floors would be more than enough of a sign that she’d arrived.

She heard a commotion coming from the kitchen, coming to a stop in the entryway she was greeted by a sight she hadn’t seen in- actually she was pretty sure she’d never seen anything of the sort.

Her father and mother were sat at the table, smiling and laughing. genuinely smiling. The reason being the boy? Man? sat at the head of the table talking to them with sweeping gestures of his hands and mirth in his voice, there’s a few papers on the table and cups of coffee next to them.

What was happening?

She didn’t particularly care for the story being told, but she simply observed the scene play out, until the mysterious stranger’s eyes met hers, as if struck all the joy left his posture as he just… stared at her, she didn’t mind, it gave her a chance to really study his face.

Rough stubble covered his chin, small gaps in the black hairs where it seemed scar tissue was present, a long discoloured streak of skin ran diagonally along his left cheek. There was nothing discernable about his ears or nose, but his eyes- that blue was something she recognised, yet couldn’t quite place.

His hair was black as coal, offset by a streak of pure white in his bangs, messy yet not unkempt or dirty

“Oh, hello Heather, there you are,” 

Her father’s voice rings out, just as the bo- definitely a man. Heather might not show it, but damn, she’s by no means particularly tall, her father fits that description more at five foot eleven, this guy however, he seems six foot four at the very least and looks like he’s built like a brick shithouse, he speaks- then.

“I’ll be uh, I’ll be out front, probably best something discussed between the three of you.” He says as he worms his way past her.

“Name’s Jason, by the way.” he adds as he’s moving past her. His voice sounds slightly shaky and his tone is strained, but neither her father or mother notice. Instead her father beckons her forth, motioning for her to sit on the chair that the now named Jason had occupied moments prior.

“So, what’s this about?” she asks, looking to her parents who suddenly have lost all semblance of the joy they’d had a few moments ago.

Typical. 

Her father breaks the silence. “Well, as you might know, me and your mother came to know each other after you were born.” She’s known that for years, why bring it up now…

That couldn’t be it, right? She dismisses the ridiculous notion out of hand. 

“Well, a few weeks ago, when I was out on a business trip, I received a call. The young man seated where you were was on the other end of the line.” She nods along, now interested where this is going.

“He emailed me some… interesting documents, and after a short discussion it was decided he was to come here today.”

“Are they trying to marry me off?” Heather wonders in her mind. Her father hands her a few papers from on the table. 

“What” is the only thing that goes through her mind as she finishes reading them and the truth is laid out on the table.

She has a brother- well half brother technically, one that’s a scant two years older than her an-

She has a brother. It hits her like a mug full of clorox, what the fuck is she supposed to do with this information? What if someone finds out?! 

A part of her knows she’s irrational, but rationality isn’t how you stay on top. If someone like Courtney or Duke found out and found a way to take advantage of that… the thought terrifies her. Duke had managed to turn the school on Mac, the only Heather people somewhat liked, Chandler in the same position though?

She knows there’s supposed to be a core of happiness when finding out something like this- by all accounts, it's good news-

But Heather can’t accept it as such. A spark of anger comes into being within her as she stands up without word and storms off to where Jason had scurried off to.

\----

Jason’s pretty sure there is no way to make a worse first impression, save actively beating the other person up (sorry Tim. But he can’t blame himself really. One moment he’d been immersed in a story involving a deadly snake and an idiotic hillbilly when he’d noticed her.)

Safe to say, that wasn’t how he’d expected the first meeting to go when Jason, after having spent a month in and out of Kori’s alien healing tubes on outlaw island, decided to maybe take Alfred’s advice to heart.

A civilian identity sounded nice, and so, he’d gone to work crafting himself a new identity.

Jason couldn’t for the life of him tell when exactly he’d read it. Couldn’t pull up information too, mainly due to the fact that five seconds after reading that he’d apparently had a sister these past eighteen years, he’d put a chair through the display screen.

And then his mind, at least he’s pretty sure its his mind and not the eldritch pull of the lazarus pit. Brings forth something that breaks him.

If he’d been able to find it after a few minutes. There is no way on earth Bruce doesn’t know.

And that train of thought leads to another truth. 

Bruce had known, and he’d said nothing.

They say Rome wasn’t built in a day, yet it burned in one. That was how he felt.

Then and there, Jason makes the call that he is done with the bats. 

And so, the Red Hood died. Not in a blaze of glory or behind bars, the red hood dies when the realization that Bruce has never trusted Jason makes itself known, and Jason breaks.

Leaving outlaw island Jason, finally legally alive again, albeit under a new name decides to try and take as many birds out with the same stone as he can.

English literature is something he’d always loved as a child. Reading was one of life’s greatest pleasures as far as he was concerned. Luckily, there was a school quite close to this newly discovered sibling of his. Luckier still was a house he was able to snag for a bargain (The owner had been someone who dabbled in child pornography, and Jason had made sure the man would never walk again.) 

So Jason, freshly in possession of a legal identity, a house and the means to an education did the next best thing, contact his sister’s father.

And that’s how he’d ended up at the table, talking animatedly when out of the corner of his eye he noticed something.

Never in his wildest nightmares had he expected her to look so much like Sheila. There were many differences between the two of them… the eyes, however?

All Sheila, and no matter how hard he tried, suddenly he was back in that warehouse, listening to his mother rant to him whilst Joker beat him again and again with that damned crowbar.

That’s how Heather finds him, hands shaking and a cigarette on his lips, sat atop his bike’s seat.

She gestures for the packet of cigarettes still sticking half way out one of the pockets in his leather jacket. 

Jason raises an eyebrow, but wordlessly hands over the pack, watching her light up the cigarette and take a large inhale.

They stand there for a few minutes, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife, and both wonder who will break the silence.

It ends up being Heather, as she takes a final drag of her cigarette before throwing the bud to the floor.

“So, what’s the deal with the white streak?”

That catches Jason out of left field, and he’s wracking his brains for a bit before an answer besides I got dunked into a mystical pit by a cult is able to spill from his lips.

“Poliosis, it’s called. Something to do with a melanin deficiency.” He explains, and she seems to buy it.

There’s a dilemma going on in Heather’s mind, and it's possibly one of the hardest ones she’s ever had. The fact that she’s got a bona fide sibling should be- is exciting, something she would probably have been ecstatic about had this news come four or five years earlier and then she remembers that she’s going to be at a totally new school in a few months, where she’s going to have to claw her way with sweat and tears back to the very top of the food chain.

And this revelation… Mcnamara had told people about being suicidal, and they’d ripped her apart without mercy for that. Duke, Mcnamara’s very best friend at the forefront.

That would be nothing compared to what would happen to her, were something like this to break out. They were always looking for a way to drag her down, and something like this might just be a big enough revelation to make many a student’s dream a reality.

That is something she cannot have happen. So she does the only thing she can come up with at the moment.

“Look, I’m not sure what you expected from this little “all you need is love” trip, but I’m not interested in the whole tear filled reunion stuff. So thank you for your time. But It’s probably best if you left.”

Surprisingly, there’s no pleading or eruption of anger, that’s something she could have dealt with. Instead his shoulders sag just a bit, enough to be noticeable and make Heather feel genuinely bad. Still, he nods at her request. Getting on his bike and grabbing his helmet from its place, slung under the handlebar. 

Heather is about to head back into the house when his voice calls after her

“Look, if it’s not too much to ask, would you mind going out to a diner or something? I’d at least like to get to know you better.

Heather sighs, “Seeing as I don’t share that sentiment, I’m gonna have to decline.”

He nods, turning on the bike and backing out of the driveway. As he’s about to shift into first gear, Heather calls out to him. 

“And if anyone asks, we don't know each other.” 

He gives no response besides a thumbs up as he tears off down the street, Heather heads back into the house, unsure what to think of herself as she locks herself in her room.

\--later--

Jason had finally arrived back at his house, he couldn’t quite call it his home yet. Located a few miles from Sherwood, this estate was something younger Jason would have only dreamed about- a few miles of property consisting of mostly woodland ran out from the back yard, and the house itself was nothing to scoff at. It looked like a log cabin, only it was about ten times the size, with seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, and an underground garage big enough to house ten vehicles. It truly was an amazing place to live.

Turns out having, hundreds of millions in change after robbing drug lords blind has some benefits.

Right now, Jason wasn’t interested in any of that, instead opting to grab himself a beer from the fridge and plant himself firmly on the couch in the living room, staring out the patio doors into the woods.

“Not the worst first meeting,” he reckoned, though he had a skewed perception of that, seeing as his best and worst weren’t “Instantly hit it off” and “spill juice on yourself” but “steal the batmobile’s fucking tires” and “almost beat a kid to death out of spite.”

There were other things to focus on anyways, most pressingly school was starting in but a few months. Maybe that would go better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was worth the wait at the very least, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Criticism is always appreciated!


	3. An olive branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this might surprise people. No there's no four month wait for the third chapter. I'd like to once again shout out the wonderful [StormySkiesAhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySkiesAhead/profile) of helping me with the editing and such!

A week had passed at Remington, and things were proceeding as planned for Heather. Jason had made no more comments on their… relation. 

Chandler tried not to think of it, but sometimes, the thought just popped into her mind- such as now, when they were all talking together at lunch (Not that she’d be caught dead complimenting the other Heathers on school property, but the two of them had apparently perfected their ways of advancing up the social hierarchy)

They made what they’d done at Westerburg look easy.

Duke had worked her magic and was in possession of some pretty hefty blackmail on some of the more influential members of the school's hierarchy. Nothing too bad of course, just the usual- cheating boyfriends, stolen wares and such. More than enough to totally ruin someone.

Mcnamara was, as usual, a bundle of energy, though even more so as she waited for the news of her being accepted on the cheerleading squad or not, all the while catching the latest gossip and the likes. Apparently, some big shot was celebrating his final birthday on campus in a week, and she’d scored invites for the lot of them.

Meanwhile Heather had been busying herself with what she was best at-

Quashing the opposition. 

And man, the three of them still worked like a well oiled machine- at least when it came to their status.

The fourth member of their posse, however…

Well, Heather wasn’t really sure what Veronica could bring to the table, at least in this stage. Forging signatures was fine and all, but that was stuff that took time to learn. And Heather wasn’t naïve enough to still think Veronica would go against her morals for the sake of popularity.

Speaking of said brunette… Heather trailed off as she saw the blue-clad girl make her way over to the table the three of them where the three of them were currently sitting.

“Hi, Veronica!” Mcnamara, as always, waved a little too enthusiastically.

“Hnn.” Duke grunted, not looking up from her food, which she was currently poking at dejectedly.

“ ‘Ronica, how are you?” Chandler asked as the brunette sat down opposite of her.

“Well, it’s been fine, I suppose” Veronica sighed, “Guess who’s in most of my classes?”

“Kurt?”

“Ram?”

“Courtney?” 

All three Heathers guessed at once.

Veronica’s next sigh sounded so, so very defeated. “Yes.”

God, if Courtney found out about Jaso- Heather snapped out of her daze as Veronica’s hand entered her vision.

“What. are you doing?” she asked, trying- and failing- to sound genuine, and not just mildly threatening.

Veronica flinched back. “Jeez, don’t bite. Just- you seemed kinda lost in thought.”

“It’s nothing, really,” she replied, hoping that- Fuck! Heather knew that look, and that look in Veronica’s eyes meant she’d caught on.

“Now that you mention it, yeah, Heather. You’ve seemed kinda… lost in thought, lately?” Mcnamara mentioned

“Wait, she can think, now?” Duke sniped.

“Shut. Up. Heather.” 

“Sorry, Heather.”

“Look,” Chandler sighed, “Can we just change the subject?” 

“Sure. Do any of you guys have an idea who that is by Martha?” Veronica asked, Heather rolled her eyes. Typical, of course it was about Marth- Heather’s mind blue screened for a second as she turned around and noticed just who was sitting next to Martha.

JD, if this is you fucking with me from hell, I will end you.

Jason… of course it was Jason, because it just wasn’t enough that he was in the same goddamn course as her, of course he just had to go and make friends with simultaneously one of the most unpopular people in Ohio…. And the best friend of her best friend.

“Oh him, yeah, his name’s Jason Peters. He’s in my PE class. Actually kinda nice and damn a sleeveless shirt does wonders for him,” Mcnamara said. The last part of that sentence did not sit well with Chandler.

Were they-?

“I can see what you mean, you can practically see his muscles through the shirt.” Duke replied.

Oh fuck her gently with a chainsaw, they were. Heather barely resisted the urge to slam her head into the table.

“He also has these scars like, all over? Never did get what the whole chicks dig scars was about, but he makes it work.” Mcnamara piped back up.

“And that streak of white though-”

“FUCK. TODAY.” She screamed internally as she pinched the bride of her nose. She saw Veronica look at her, eyebrow cocked as she mouthed an “are you ok”

“Toilet, now” she mouthed back. Veronica nodded as they both stood up simultaneously. 

“I’m going the the toilet, Sawyer’s coming with,” was all Heather said before storming out of the cafeteria, Veronica trying to keep up.

It took a while, but finally Heather found a toilet, entering the toilet she noticed a few girls stood in front of the mirror gossiping among themselves.

“Hi Heather.” A snooty voice rang out. Of course Courtney was here. “How are you-”

“Get out.” Heather interrupted, she had exactly zero patience for Courtney today.

Apparently Courtney thought otherwise, as she opened her mouth again, just in time for the door to swing open once more and Veronica Sawyer to step inside.

Courtney glared at Veronica, but motioned for the other girls to follow her,

“Fuckin’ bitch.” Heather muttered, causing Veronica to look at her questioningly.

“Why do you hate her so much, anyways?”

“Wha- what? I’m not the one who punched her in the face here Sawyer.” 

Veronica shrugged. “She kinda deserved it” Heather nodded.

“That, we can agree on.”

There were a few moments of silence as Heather and Veronica just stared at each other... Heather would forever pat herself on the back for forbidding Veronica from wearing heels, the normal three inch gap between the brunette and the blonde was bridged perfectly by the queen bee’s four inch heels, which gave her a solid inch over the blue clad brunette in flats.Though Heather reckoned Heels would do wonderful things for her le-

‘Woah, where did that come from?’ she asked herself. Questions for later.

“So, what’s the problem?”

Yeah, the problem, more of a who than a what. 

Should she even tell Veronica? What if she accidentally told anyone?

What if she used this against her?

Then again…

This wasn’t Duke, who she couldn’t trust with a secret for fear of her using it against Chandler. Or Mcnamara, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.

This was Veronica. 

T̶he samę o̶ne ̨tha͘t fe̶d ̶y̴o͘u ḑrai͞n҉ cleane̢r. She frowned, That had been JD.

Veronica was the only reason she was even standing here.

This was the same Veronica who’d broken Courtney’s nose after the country club girl had tried to “prank” Chandler by filling her locker with clorox.

If she couldn’t tell Veronica, she couldn’t tell anyone. 

“Fuck it,” she muttered, causing Veronica to look at her questioningly.

“Heather are you-” the brunette began, but Heather cut her off.

“It’s about that kid, y’know the one sat next to Martha?”

“The one Mac and Duke were gushing about?”

Heather so wished Veronica hadn’t reminded her of that. “Yes.”

“Well…” Heather trailed off gazing at the floor, rubbing her left arm.

“Wait Heather, do you have a crush on him or something?” 

Heather’s eyes flew up in alarm, a shout on the tip of her tongue before she reminded herself that Courtney was probably still hanging around and that would definitely catch her attention. Though Veronica’s expression confounded her. There was an easy smirk on her lips, sure, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Are you ok?” That seemed to shake the taller girl from some sort of trance, as she muttered an affirmative.

Heather smiled, “Alright good, now back to the problem at hand.” She smacked Veronica across the back of the head.

“Ow Heather what the fuck?” Veronica said, rubbing the back of her head.

“Be glad I didn’t smack you harder, have a crush on him?! He’s my brother.” 

Shit. Heather’s eyes widened as she realized that she’d said that aloud, watching Veronica’s expression change into one of utter shock.

“You have a brother.” Heather flinched at the volume. 

“Keep it down will you, and- kinda?”

“Kind of?”

“Well half brother, really.”

“What the fuck.”

“You’ve just basically summarized my thoughts on the matter.” Heather muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“So, why am I just hearing about this now?” 

Heather looked at the brunette as if she’d just confused a cow and a chicken. 

“What do you mean why are you hearing about this now? I'm not even sure I should have told you to begin with. Don’t. Tell. Anyone.” Heather said, growling the last part as she stalked towards the brunette, driving her flush against the farmost wall.

“Woah, woah Heather calm down.” Veronica held up her hands in surrender as the blonde all but pinned her to the wall. More than aware of their uncomfortable proximity, the brunette tried to slide along the wall- only to be stopped by Heather’s hand slamming into the tiles next to her face.

A blush spread across Veronica’s cheeks as it dawned on her that now she was actually being pinned to the wall by Heather fucking Chandler. 

“Uhh Heather… mind taking a step back. What if someone were to walk in?

Veronica’s eyes seemed to snap Heather out of a daze, the brunette could see the other girl take stock of their current position. She could even pinpoint the exact second Heather realized just what it looked like, Her eyes turned to pinpricks as her cheeks flushed. Taking a massive step back, for a second Veronica thought to tease the blonde, but very quickly decided not to.

She wasn’t suicidal, thank you very much.

“So, back to the topic at hand.” Veronica said, trying to change the subject back to the matter at hand.

“Ah yes, well.. I only found out like two? Yeah two- months ago. I come home to the guy sitting at the dinner table joking around with my parents, and they were actually laughing!”

“Okay, that is weird.” Veronica commented, Heather wasn’t usually vocal about her personal issues. Her relationship with her parents being the exception. From what Veronica had gathered to say the three of them weren’t close would be something of an understatement.

“So, what’s he like?” Veronica tried.

Heather crossed her arms, averting her gaze. Veronica frowned at that.

“Heather?”

It took a few minutes, and about half a dozen reassurances that no, she wasn’t going to tell anyone and many, many other things. But Heather eventually told Veronica just what the problem was. How she’d sent the guy away and her reasons for doing so.

The worst part was? Veronica couldn’t blame her. Something like that coming to light would be ammunition the likes of Courtney could abuse, hell- even if Veronica was a lot more sceptical of Duke’s inclusion in that list of people Heather did not want to get their hands on that information, she completely understood why.

After all, most of these situations were possibilities within Chandler’s mind, nothing she could know for certain. With Duke, however?

Duke had been told information, sensitive personal information, by Mcnamara, no less. The aftermath of that was still something Veronica sometimes dreamt about, the usual really. What if she’d been a little slower, what if Mac hadn’t listened.

So she understood that, what she didn’t understand however was-

“So, why tell me?”

The blonde’s shoulders sagged “Because you’re the only one I could tell.”

“Fair enough, so what now?”

Heather looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Veronica shrugged “Seems to me you’re unsure about the whole “I apparently have a brother” situation.”

“Half brother,” Heather reminded her. The brunette just rolled her eyes. “Semantics, now what I’d suggest you do is just talk to him, maybe just grab a bite to eat with him? Go from there.”

Heather blanched “Veronica, did you understand a single word of what I’ve been telling you these past few minutes?”

Veronica checked her phone “We’ve been here for almost an hour Heather.” 

“Semantics.” Heather snapped back, “Anyways, even if I were to decide that “hey, I’d be willing to get to know you, half brother I’ve apparently had for the last eighteen years of my fucking life” , which I’m still not sure about by the way- how would I even go about it? I was pretty fucking harsh last time I spoke to him an-” Apparently Heather had been pacing back and forth as she ranted, as Veronica caught her shoulder mid stride, spinning the blonde so she was facing the blue clad brunette.

“Heather, I’m telling you this now, You’re overthinking it. Trust me, I know.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

Veronica’s face pulled into a sheepish grin. “You really think I was able to just storm into your room at the hospital? I spent three hours psyching myself up.”

Heather rolled her eyes, “And let me guess, you were planning on bribing me with ten bags of corn nuts?”

The brunette scratched the back of her neck “Well… I did almost buy out an entire 7-11’s stock, reserves and all. Apparently they have 1100 packets in a single location.”

Heather nodded approvingly “Vital information, thank you Sawyer.” 

Both girls descended into giggles shortly thereafter, leaning into each other in order to not fall as they laughed away the tension in the air.

As her laughter died down, Veronica nudged Heather “So, what’s the game plan?”

Heather simply shrugged “I reckon I’ll just grab a bite with him, go from there.”

Both of them were just sitting there afterwards, laughing and joking a bit. Veronica was in the middle of a very animated retelling of an incident involving a butter knife, a set of cross beams and her uncle Jerry when Heather Duke, with Mcnamara right behind her, almost took the door with her as she stormed into the cubicle.

“There’s a fight in the cafeteria, let’s go,” was all she said before she dragged Mcnamara back out of the toilet with her, Veronica and Chandler now hot on their heels.

“How’d you find us?” Veronica called to Duke, who was still a good few feet ahead of both her and Chandler, dragging Mcnamara along as she stormed to the cafeteria.

“Simple. Courtney was right next to the door.” Duke replied. 

Veronica gulped as she heard Chandler growl next to her.

As the group turned into the cafeteria, chaos met them head on. The students had essentially built a barrier with their bodies, standing on benches and tables to try and get a good view of the action, a trash can launched from within the circle decked a first year stood on a bench in the face, sending him careening to the floor in a moaning pile.

“So, what happened here?” Chandler asked Duke.

“Far as I can tell, Kurt and Ram met some boys from a rival football team, made a whole scene and all. Next thing you know Ram’s got a broken nose and Kurt’s strangling someone on top of a bench, from there it escalated.” Duke replied.

Luckily the four of them had managed to get a decent view of the action, stood atop a bench right behind the main circle of people, dozens of people were filming it seemed, tiny cameras lit up from within the masses. Chandler wouldn’t be surprised if this ended up on Youtube by the end of the day. 

“Damn, they’re really going at it, aren’t they?” Mcnamara commented as Ram smashed some unknown kid’s face into the floor whilst Kurt was waving a lunch tray around like it was a lethal weapon.

Chandler was half-watching thoroughly uninterested in the usual dick measuring contest Ram and Kurt often found themselves so desperate to compete in, when something nudged her side. 

Turning to who’d nudged her- Veronica apparently, the brunette whispered in her ear whilst slipping her a piece of paper.

“In the corner.” Heather glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening as she caught sight of a familiar form. Jason was sitting in the corner, as far away from the action as he could. Seeming absorbed in some sort of book.

Heather looked to the slip of paper in her hands, finding her own phone number written neatly down in her own handwriting, shooting an offended glare at Veronica, the brunette countered with raised shoulders and a wink.

Glancing back at the corner, and once more at the slip of paper in her hands, Heather felt nervous. Should she really go through with this? What if someone saw? Veronica just nudged her again.

“It’ll be fine.”

That… made Heather feel a lot more confident. As quietly as she could she stepped off the bench, turning to walk towards where her target was sat.

Heather, figuring dallying around would only draw attention, strode with purpose to the other side of the cafetaria. Thankfully nobody was sitting there except the person she was after. Nevertheless she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder every few seconds, worry creeping in that someone was going to see her.

If any did, she didn’t notice, and soon enough she found herself stood in front of Jason, who seemed to not have noticed her. The commotion not twenty meters from them must have masked the sound of her footsteps.

He seemed enthralled in some sort of book, Heather tilted her head to get a good look at the title, written along the spine of the book.

Les mi- She snorted as she realized the book he was reading, the sound drawing his eyes from the words in the book itself and to her own, widening minutely as he realized who stood in front of him.

“Les Miserables huh? Never took you for a well read individual.” Heather joked, drawing an eye roll from the Black haired boy in front of her.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t a fan of the movie, thought I’d check out the original.” Stuffing the worn book back in his bag before standing up.

“And, regarding the latter half of that comment. You’ve said a grand sum of twenty words to me… ever.” 

She wasn’t sure if he’d meant for that comment to sting, but it did. Nevertheless she reached across the table when he turned to walk off, catching the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“I-.” She began, as Jason turned to look at her.

“Figured I owe you at least one chance to get to know me.” She held out the slip of paper in her hand, Jason’s eyebrow quirked as he looked at it.

“Alright?” She asked, Jason’s expression was unreadable for a few seconds, before a small smile formed.

“Sure.” he replied, pocketing the piece of paper and walking out of the cafeteria. 

Heather felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding

“I see it now.” 

Heather jumped, letting out a surprised yell (it was not a squeak thankyouverymuch) as someone spoke up behind her.

Annoyance flooded her as she whirled around to come face to face with Veronica’s brown eyes, an amused expression on the brunette’s face.

“Don’t fucking do that, Sawyer.” Heather growled out, jabbing the brunette in the chest with her finger.

“Ouch, sheesh Heather, no need to get physical.” Veronica whined, rubbing the spot where Chandler’s nail had tried its best to skewer her. “I was only checking to see how things were going.”

“Everything went fine, Sawyer.” Heather said, never mind the fact that had probably been one of the most awkward conversations in Heather’s life, did the brunette really think she was that hopeless?

Wait, Veronica had mentioned something earlier. About… Seeing it?

“What did you mean by the way, about seeing it?” Heather asked, making air quotes with her hands.

“Oh that? It’s the eyes.” Veronica said, pointing to her own. “You’ve both got the same shade of blue.”

“Oh.” Heather hadn’t realized that.

Suddenly, a massive commotion was heard from the hallways, as what looked like at least a dozen campus security stormed into the cafeteria, heading for the makeshift arena of students.

“Wanna watch Kurt and Ram get dragged off?” Veronica asked mischievously.

Heather’s grin was wicked. “Sign me up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, please tell me your thoughts, and I'm curious where you all think the series is going to go.


	4. Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prelude to the first conversation. Though, not the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I am back with a new chapter, and once again I'd like to thank [Stormyskiesahead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySkiesAhead/profile) for being the amazing editor and beta reader she is
> 
> This one's a bit shorter so I could get to writing the juicy one that is the next chapter

All people have certain tics, no matter how much they deny them. When the right (or wrong) situation presents itself, those tics become apparent.

Chandler’s never flaunted it in public, but judging a person’s emotional state or intent from a single glance is something she’s found invaluable over the years, and it’s a skill that she’s proud beyond measure of. 

Though, to be fair, some of them are so obvious she often wonders how people haven’t noticed them.

Kurt’s feet always point outwards when he’s trying to flirt with someone. On the other hand, Ram’s head always cocks to the left. Those are so painfully obvious she’s pretty sure she has a pavlov’s dog type reaction when she sees it, though the urge to throw up  _ might _ just be from the  _ half a can _ of axe that those two  _ somehow _ think is an acceptable amount of body spray.

There’s a few more, such as Jimmy, the kid who Duke always threatens for blackmail, who has this almost compulsory need to clean his glasses when he’s nervous. Or Courtney, even though Chandler begrudgingly acknowledges that Courtney is a good actress. There’s this weird tone her voice shifts to that raises red flags whenever she hears it. In her early days at Westerburg, Chandler’s knowledge of that was one of the only things that kept her from spilling her guts to Courtney when the two of them were still friends.

Duke’s always squeezed her legs together before rushing off to the bathroom to throw up. And even though Duke and her don’t have the greatest relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t  _ somewhat _ relieved that these last few months she’d noticed it less and less.

Mcnamara was someone she used to consider one of the easiest people to read. The tiny blonde’s whole being seemed to reflect her mood. Happiness meant that the cheerleader was just bouncy as a whole. When she was sad, her entire frame just seemed to slump and sink in on itself, making her look even tinier than she already was.

She must have been focusing on the wrong part of the other blonde, because she hadn’t had a clue that Mcnamara was depressed.. much less  _ suicidal _ . After that fact had become known to her, she’d tried to find a way to get a feel for her mood some other way.

It ended up being her hands. If her hands were open, and she was waving them around with her usual slightly too enthusiastic nature, she was feeling good. The less she used her hands, and the more closed or sometimes clenched they were, the worse she was feeling.

And then, of course, there were people she just couldn’t get a feel for. She’d tried. By  _ god _ she’d tried, but it just seemed impossible.

Her parents were among that group. It was almost impossible to read the room when they were in it. One day watching something on her phone would simply get one of them to ask her to tone it down, other days it would result in one of them blowing a gasket at her.

With everything it seemed like that, hence she preferred staying in her room when possible.

Another one was Veronica. That often drove her up the fucking wall, the brunette was an enigma. Heather had tried and tried to figure out what made the newest addition to her clique tick. But she just couldn’t.

She often found herself just watching the brunette. But it made no difference what she did. Sometimes, Duke would tell a joke with a perfectly delivered punchline that barely got a chuckle from her, but Mcnamara mentioning how Ram had gotten a football to the nuts seemed to make Veronica’s whole face light up.

She supposed that counted right? Veronica laughing wasn’t simply that, it was a myriad of factors that added to it. Her nose scrunched up, dimples appeared in her cheeks and it seemed as if her normally deep brown eyes lightened a shade or three.

  
It wasn’t much, but then again that was essentially the gist of her and Veronica’s relationship. She always knew what to feel around those others, Veronica, however? She wasn’t so sure.

But that train of thought was something she could explore some other time, where had she been? Oh yeah, tics.

Loathe to admit it, Heather had her own ones. Most of them were silly little things, like twirling her locks of golden hair around her fingers if something or someone had caught her interest. Or the way the concept of personal space just seemed to disappear whenever she was mad.

There was one however, that was less inconspicuous. Heather paced. A lot. When she was nervous, and the current situation had Heather think maybe merely  _ nervous _ was too strong a word.

Terrified? That seemed more apt. Then again, Chandler dared anyone to judge her to feel this way with the situation she was currently facing. How does one even begin to approach a conversation with someone- a brother no less. One that they had no idea even  _ existed _ for the past eighteen years.

The fact her initial, and perhaps slightly hasty reaction was to simply send him off and pretend like it had never happened didn’t add to her confidence regarding her meeting.

And now she was alone, at home, freaking the fuck out because later  _ today _ she had a meeting with him.

So yeah, pacing was something Heather did- had done for the better part of the last hour. She was pretty sure she’d sanded an inch off of her heels due to pure friction alone as she paced back and forth in her room.

It’d been a week since Veronica had slipped her that note and she’d let herself be convinced that maybe she’d acted rashly, that  _ perhaps _ giving the whole “brother” situation a chance wouldn’t immediately backfire on her as she’d feared.

She still wasn’t sure, however, and that therefore rejected the idea he’d proposed over text of grabbing something to eat from the local diner, horrified at the idea of someone accidentally walking in on them.

She’d chosen a place Veronica had recommended. Apparently, it had been where she and her little friend Martha dum- Dunnstock- went to because nobody from Westerburg had even heard of it.

  
Problem was? It was a forty-five minute drive, but he hadn’t complained when she’d suggested it. Lord knows  _ she _ would have.   
  
They were supposed to meet there at four. A quick glance to her phone showed her she still had over an hour to go before she needed to get in her Porsche.

A full hour… alone with her thoughts.

_ Fuck. That. _

Grabbing her phone, she dialed Veronica’s number as she threw herself on top of her bed, leaning against the headboard as she waited for the girl who was the  _ reason _ for her current predicament to pick up.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Heather waited. Veronica usually only picked up around the fourth or fifth beep.

As expected, perfectly after the fifth beep, Veronica picked up.

“Ello? ‘o is it?” A distinctly  _ very sleepy _ sounding Veronica answered.

At 2:12 in the afternoon. Heather blinked at the realization.

“Ronica, your sleep schedule is atrocious.” She sniped.

“ ‘S because I have to deal with you three all week long.” Heather let out a surprised bark of laughter at the retort, and the subsequent spluttering as Veronica’s no doubt sleepy mind caught up with what she’d just said.

“N-no sorry Heather I-” The now clearly awake Veronica stammered, tripping over her words as she tried to blurt out an apology, which only resulted in Heather laughing harder at the mental image of Veronica’s no bout horrified look.

“Calm down Sawyer.” She said, voice still thick with laughter, absentmindedly fiddling with a lock of hair that had come undone from her scrunchie as she listened to the brunette recollect herself.

“Yeah yeah, so what? Up. I reckon you need something and that’s why you woke me up?”

Chandler scoffed “It’s two in the afternoon, I’m not to be held responsible for your horrid life choices.”

“Says the girl who’d sell us all for a packet of corn nuts.” Chandler pondered that for a bit.

“Duke, maybe.” she said, smirking as she drew a gasp from the girl on the other end of the line.

“Chandler, that’s horrible!” Veronica admonished. She might have felt a little bad if not for the fact that Veronica was so very clearly trying- and failing not to laugh at that. 

“Wait.” Veronica said, a few moments later. “Isn’t today the day you’re supposed to be meeting with Jason?” Heather could almost  _ feel _ the tension in the room thicken, as if some invisible force had just perched itself upon her shoulders.

“Wow.” She breathed “Learn to read a room Veronica, you’ve completely ruined the mood.” She muttered, before adding a quick “Yes.” as she found herself once again pondering that particular black haired elephant in the room.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d imagine the mighty Heather Chandler has some nerves?” Veronica teased. Heather blushed, but bit back a quick retort. 

“Don’t get smart with me Sawyer, I’m in this predicament because of  _ you _ and I-”

“Wow, slow down there Heather. As much as I appreciate the fact you’ve come to me for advice and all, I didn’t convince you of anything. I made a  _ suggestion _ . You didn’t seem to need much, if any convincing.” 

Heather was about to offer a rebuttal, before realizing that Veronica was in fact,  _ correct.  _ Normally, she would have said something anyways, but something stopped her.

Why had she even agreed to it at all?

“Anyways, what’s the matter?” Veronica asked. Heather scoffed. What  _ wasn’t _ the matter? What would she even talk about, would there really be nobody from Westerburg or Remington? 

“Wow.” Veronica muttered on the other end of the line, making Heather realize she’d said all that aloud.

“Well…” Heather sighed, defeated. “Now you know.”

“Well, since you did call me about it. Want me to give my two cents?” Heather was about to snap at her that  _ that was literally why she’d called Veronica.  _ Before Veronica continued her line of thought.

“You’re overthinking it, honestly. This is the first time you’re gonna have a conversation with the guy. Don’t expect to talk about anything personal, hell just ask him where he’s from, what he’s done all these years and such.” 

Heather nodded, maybe she’d been overthinking it.

“And if you’re really all that worried about someone recognising you, maybe try wearing something different, for once.” That last part was whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

_ Almost. _

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Heather, what are you wearing right now- wait don’t tell me. A red blazer with a checkered skirt and stockings and a pair of red heels. Topped off with a red scrunchie?”

Heather sputtered “W-well of course I am, it’s my look after all.”

“Yes Heather, it’s  _ your _ look. Who was making a fuss about people recognising them. Don’t you think maybe not wearing what you  _ always _ wear would be beneficial to people NOT noticing you?” Veronica deadpanned.

“Surely it’s not that bad?” Heather tried. But Veronica’s silence said enough. “Fine.” She muttered, shoulders sagging in defeat. “What would I even wear?”

“I mean, maybe some jeans? Try something different than red once in a while, just something so out of left field for the almighty  _ demon queen _ of Westerburg that you’d just be another hot blonde.” Veronica said.

Chandler ignored the slight mocking tone the brunette’s voice took as she no doubt mocked Heather’s title, but took her advice anyways, giving her a quick thanks before hanging up. Though, not before having to promise the newest member of her posse an in detail description of how her meeting went.

On the plus side… She felt a lot less like- well like she’d spent the past four hours in dread and more, cautiously optimistic?

Yeah, she’d go with that.

\--forty minutes later--

“Gotta say Heather, looking good.” she complimented as she looked at herself in the mirror. Veronica was right, nobody would recognise her as Heather Chandler with what she was currently wearing.

Red sneakers, ones she didn’t even remember buying- or owning. Dark blue jeans with an ornate brown belt. A black cashmere turtleneck with a red leather jacket worn over it. Topping it all off was a pair of ruby earrings and the fact she’d opted out of a scrunchie, instead letting her hair, flow free, reaching almost to the small of her back.

She sent a quick photo to Sawyer, who just responded with a pair of eye emojis and a thumbs up. 

“Just another hot blonde huh?” Heather muttered, spinning around. Before her brain caught up with what exactly Veronica had said and her cheeks flushed pink.

“Well…” She thought for a few seconds, before abandoning that particular train of thought entirely. She had somewhere to be.

  
  


\--Meanwhile--

Jason knew he had bad habits. 

Then again who didn’t? (Though to be fair there was a clear divide between his bad habits and his bat habits.) 

  
He smoked. A lot. And he had the tendency to get into bar fights. The former was one he’d been trying to quit for a while now, because his normal excuse wasn’t gonna cut it.

“With our nightly business, I really don’t think I need to worry about smoking killing me.” He chuckled as he remembered the first time he’d used that excuse.

It had been a dark, stormy night- so summer in Gotham, he’d been paired up with daddy bats for surveillance on one of two-face’s operations and he’d decided to light a cigarette after four hours of  _ fucking nothing _ happening.

That had led to one of Bruce’s signature- well, more disappointed stares. When he’d snarked back, Bruce had declared they’d come back another night. 

He learned later from Tim that his little comment had lead to Bruce crushing the binoculars he’d been holding at the time, which drew another snort from him.

Where was he again? Oh yeah, bad habits. 

Jason tended to snoop, and stick his nose where he didn’t belong. Standard bat business really. Though he wasn’t a bat anymore, it was a hard habit to kick.

Said habit had lead to him coming to know a few things about Heather Chandler. A few things stood out as he came to know more and more about Chandler.

Everyone seemed fucking  _ terrified _ of her. That one he hadn’t really understood for a while. Until he came across one Kurt Kelly getting a verbal thrashing from the aforementioned girl that he was sure would have reduced ducra to tears of joy.

The catalyst? Bad breath.

The picture he’d slowly built in his head of her was quite frankly, a typical queen bee. He couldn’t help draw the connection to a “Janis” from a movie whose name he didn’t remember. He’d fallen asleep halfway through, and Steph had been mad at him for it. But hey, you don't drag someone fresh from patrol out of bed to watch a movie with you. That’s just common sense really.

A pang of sadness washed over him as he realized that there wouldn’t be any more movie nights with Steph, and occasionally Cassandra when Steph managed to coax the girl to join them.

Where was he- oh yeah. The image Heather Chandler had seemed to have built herself. She was equal parts feared and damn near worshipped it seemed.

Not the image he reckoned meshed well with a western themed bar.

But who knows, maybe she liked this sort of stuff? The place did look nice regardless of the theme, some stereotypical barrels and buffalo skulls, with loads of western memorabilia plastered on every single surface that had space for it, he spotted old revolvers, coach guns and even the odd rolling block rifle.

The bar itself was made to look like an old saloon, the bartender himself even dressed up like you’d see in those old time movies.

He’d debated taking a seat there for all of ten seconds before the stools caught his eye, they looked normal for the most part… until you got to the seating. Instead of normal cushions they’d been replaced by saddles, which- whilst creative immediately dissuaded him from taking a seat there.

A combination of Talia, a desert and a particularly disgruntled camel had made him swear off ever getting into a saddle once again, even if they weren’t attached to animals that hated his guts.

So he opted for a table near the back of the bar, still visible from the entrance but away from the worst of the crowds.

Checking his watch he realized he still had about forty minutes to kill. Drumming his fingers on the table he considered waving over a waitress and just ordering a few drinks, but decided against it.

Instead he opted to go over the backstory behind Jason Peters, just in case she asked any questions.

Truth be told, there wasn’t much to remember, and for good reason.

After all… The best lies are 90% truth.

Jason Peters was still born in crime alley, he still lost his mother to drugs and his father to the penguin and his schemes. He also got adopted by a big shot billionaire in need of a charity case.

Difference was? Jason Peters didn’t spend his nights fighting psychopaths in tights, Jason Peters had a pretty boring life all things considering.

Well… Until the age of thirteen, how else was he gonna explain all these scars? 

So Jason Peters had gotten himself kidnapped in a bid against his rich daddy, a certain bitch of a blonde being involved there. That had ended poorly, and he’d been sent into witness protection.

Hence why he hadn’t heard of Heather Chandler’s existence before.

It was damn brilliant if he said so himself, if anyone got too nosy he could simply say “classified” or “not allowed to talk about it. And he’d be set.

But the most brilliant thing of all?

Jason Peters  _ was  _ Jason Peter Todd.

On second thought, he’d have that drink after all, waving over a waitress and asking for a drinks menu.

Oh if only Bruce knew. Jason couldn’t help but bite back a chuckle at the mental image of Bruce’s face  _ when _ he finds out.

He’s not arrogant enough to put an  _ if _ there, after all. The moniker “world’s greatest detective” isn’t an easy one to earn.

The best part? It won’t even matter, after all. It was the Red Hood that shot Penguin, not Bruce Wayne’s adopted son, long thought to be dead.

It was a masterstroke, and one he might have been able to pull off himself. But it was too risky, if something went wrong he’d have the bat breathing down his neck in an instant.

Hence why he’d asked for help. More specifically. Help from Babs and Timbers. God, Bruce would be fucking  _ furious _ when he found out about that one. But he didn’t care. Because the end result was something he’d never dared hope he would have again. A legal identity- his legal identity. And a trump card over the bat.

Bringing him in would get people to ask questions, the type of questions that he was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t be able to sweep under the rug. And even if he was?

Jason would put the nail in that coffin himself if it came to it. 

He’s never going back to Arkham, that he vows.

Luckily that same waitress interrupts his train of thought from wandering somewhere…  _ unpleasant _ , as she asks him if he’s made a choice yet.

He opts for a soda, refusing the food menu with a simple “I’m waiting for someone, so maybe later.” And a small smile. With the tip of a hat and a chuckle she writes down his order and walks off. Out of curiosity he checks the time again.

He groans, thirty-five minutes to go. Shit.

\--Twenty minutes later, Heather Chandler-

You know the term, “so loud I can’t hear myself think?”

Apparently it’s a real thing it occurs at around… What was it again- oh yeah, 70% of the maximum volume her Porsche’s speakers can handle.

It’s still about ten-fifteen minutes away, but she’s pretty sure she can see the place’s name on her Nav screen.

Outlaw bar and gri- her mind blue screens as she realizes just  _ where _ she’s headed.

She is going to kill Veronica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was the fourth chapter, how'd you all like it?


	5. soda, awkwardness and bar fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again, and honestly I'm decently happy with this chapter despite the numerous rewrites and the trouble I had with it, so here it is. The first of two chapters focussing on Heather and Jason's first meeting.
> 
> Once again I'd like to give shoutout to the lovely [https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySkiesAhead/pseuds/StormySkiesAhead](StormySkiesAhead) For her awesome help editing and suggesting things.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Chandler muttered, staring at the dinghy roadside bar with a mixture of disgust and nervousness. This was it, wasn’t it?

It looked horrible. Cracked paint, dirty windows, and a foul odor permeated from the bar- honestly, it was more of a shack than anything. Heather couldn’t believe..

Yeah, no. She could totally believe how little miss “I wear a fucking monocle” would be into something like this.

After making a mental note to  _ never _ let Veronica pick a bar, and a quick internal screaming match that went basically nowhere, she climbed up the dingy, rotten steps to the no doubt mouldy looking door, and threw it open as she stepped inside. The creaking of the abused hinges made her wince as she looked over the general populace this shitshow of an establishment had attracted.    
  
A few mean looking people in leather jackets, most likely the owners of the bikes that had been parked in such a way they took up a whole FIVE parking spots. In other words, a bunch of pricks. 

For some god forsaken reason there was a family sitting at the table next to them, seemed decently dressed, with the exception of the father. The toddler, sat in a quite frankly dangerous looking high chair, was wearing something she could forgive, even though neon pink made her eyes burn. But the fact that the mildly attractive 40-something looking father was wearing an honest to god  _ bright green turtleneck _ on the other hand?

That, she could not.   
  
Nevertheless, she managed to tear her eyes away from the trainwreck in Mr. Rogers’ neighbourhood long enough to look for the person she was supposed to meet. And lo and behold, he was already there, sipping absentmindedly from a soda can, the glass you’re supposed to pour it in untouched by his side.

He hadn’t seen her yet, so she quickly took note of his state of dress, Red T-shirt, denim jeans, some no- name brand sneakers that she better not comment on, and that damn ugly leather jacket laid out on the table, as if he was unfamiliar to the concept of coat racks.

Actually… taking a quick look around the bar she agreed with him there. Best not to risk it, she didn’t want to have to go begging for Mr. Chandler’s credit card again.

So, taking a  _ wide _ berth around the occupied tables, she made her way over to her destination. Said destination had noticed her, apparently, considering he was watching her from the corner of his eyes.

“How long have you been sitting here?” She asked him as she took her place opposite him, fighting down a flinch as she made contact with the no doubt disgusting chair.

“Didn’t really pay attention, but I think half an hour- ish?” Jason replied.

“That desperate to get to know me?” Heather said- or well, would have said, if not for Veronica’s words still jumbling around in her head.

  
She let out a sigh, she  _ had  _ promised that she’d at least give it a shot. Not like she had any obligation towards the person sitting in front of her.

The silence stretched on for a few minutes after that, and though Jason didn’t seem to mind, preoccupied in what looked like the menu card. Heather was pretty sure this was getting more awkward by the minute.

“Sooo, where are you from?” She asked, remembering Veronica’s suggestion from earlier.

“Gotham.” He replied, not even looking up from the card. Though the gleam in his eyes did tell her that something had caught his interest.”

…

  
Wait.

“Gotham?” She asked quietly, surely he didn’t mean  _ that  _ Gotham?

“Yeah, most people ‘round here have that reaction. Can’t say I blame ‘em though, place has a reputation for a reason.” 

_ What the fuck.  _

She’s heard the horror stories- hell everyone has, of the hellscape that is Gotham city. She’s seen news coverages of characters you’d normally only come across in sick fantasies, committing horrible, monstrous acts that make her sick to her stomach. 

She’d never given the city much attention, dismissing it as some shitty place far enough away that she’d never have to deal with it. Now, however, she’s looking at him- seeing the scars that litter his body and the way he seems so comfortable in this dank, disgusting place. Really makes her wonder just  _ what kind  _ of place Gotham is

“What’s Gotham like?” She can't help but ask.

  
The response was instantaneous.

“Weather’s shit, people are worse. The freakshows that make their home there aren’t much of a help either.” He doesn’t even look at her, but the casual answer suddenly makes her ask a dozen more questions. 

“He sounds like he  _ misses _ the place. She thinks.    
  
  
“So, where are you from?” Looking back at the puzzled expression of the man sitting opposite of her stumps her for a bit, still trying to wrack her brain around the piece of information she’s just acquired, before answering.

“Sherwood, same place you visited a while back, remember?” He nods. “The mansion?”    
  
Heather’s about to roll her eyes and tell him that  _ no, it’s not a mansion.  _ But that’s a conversation she’s had at least a dozen times already with Veronica and not one she’d like to repeat again, so she nods.

“Empty.” He grumbles, playing around with the aluminium as his eyes travel across the bar. The patrons aren’t on edge, even with the rather rambunctious group of bikers taking up a good few tables. Hell, there’s even a family sitting right next to them.

In Gotham, someone would’ve been stabbed at least half an hour ago. He reckons this isn’t that bad a change of pace.

The awkward silence was something he could do without, though.

Hell, what was he supposed to ask? He’d gotten extremely lucky she’d asked the first question, because he sure as shit wasn’t coming up with one of his own.

With the bats he always knew what he could get away with, even if he took pleasure crossing that line from time to time.

Hey, not his fault they couldn’t appreciate his slightly  _ morbid _ sense of humour.

With Biz and Artemis, Roy and Kori he just…  _ knew _ how to interact with them.

Hell, even Martha Dunnstock, who he’d found out was one of the prime targets of the girl sitting opposite of him, was someone he knew how to interact with. Though to be fair, that was mainly her simply rambling off whilst he listened. Not that he minded, the girl needed  _ someone _ like that in her life.

Where was he?   
  
Oh yeah   
  


How the fuck is he supposed to interact with the girl opposite of him?

For the briefest of seconds he considers the possibility of it being because she’s a  _ sister _ and not a brother, but that’s utter bullshit. Steph and Cass were proof of that.

He’s thankful, yet dreading the moment she asks the one question he knows she’ll ask. 

_ What’s our mother like?  _ Because yeah, how are you supposed to explain to someone you barely know that your mother sold you out to the world’s worst comedy act, insulted you whilst said walking bundle of giggles and homicide beats you into a pulp with a crowbar, and how the both of you die due to a bomb that said freak set up in advance.

Suddenly his lips feel dry as an all too familiar chuckle makes itself known, coming from  _ nowhere _ and  _ everywhere _ at once. 

Thankfully their waiter comes back with two sodas just in time to stop him from delving deeper, this time he opts to take a glass as well, recalling her earlier disappointed star-

His eyes lock onto the ones of the blonde sitting opposite of him.

_ That’s not Heather. _

Cigarette smoke and iron fill his nose, the chuckle crescendos into that same fucking maniacal cackle that still plagues his every dream.

The glass slips from between his fingers.

Unbeknownst to him, but not going completely unnoticed. His eyes flash green.

Thankfully, the ringing of glass shattering against wood snaps him out of..  _ Whatever that was. _

“You know, you might be able to ask for a sippy cup if you’re struggling with glass.” Heather’s voice rings out as the waitress walks off to grab a dustpan, and as he looks up he is beyond relieved that sitting opposite of him is in fact a certain bitchy queen-bee, and not  _ her _ .

He doesn’t respond to the comment, muttering out a quick “Sorry.” to the waitress as his eyes dart around the bar with a slightly manic fervor, trying to focus on something,  _ anything _ in a bid to keep his mind anchored in the present.

Something catches his attention in the opposite corner. How’d he not noticed it before?

  
A particularly obnoxious bout of laughter from the gang of bikers taking up the middle of the room makes his lips curve in a smirk.

“Wanna see something fun?” He mutters to the blonde, prompting her to look up from her phone.

“What’re you planning?” The semi-concerned look she gives him as her gaze darts from him to the bikers he’s been eyeing is somewhat amusing. But he just winks at her, mouthing a “trust me” as he walks past the bikers on his way to the opposite side of the room.

There, in all its faded red and yellow glory, is one of those old boxing machines, y’know the ones with the leather ball that comes down? The thing’s probably older than he is, if the cracked paint and stained glass are things to go by. It’s one of those types that go from 0 to 100, the current high score of 87 is shown in neon red in the upper right corner of the machine. 

As he throws a few dollars into the slot and the leather ball comes down he can feel the eyes of the bikers on him as the noise they’ve been making quiets down considerably. No doubt waiting to laugh at him should his score be bad.

He almost wants to goad them, but that can come later. First thing’s first. Proper stance? Check. Good form? Check. He gives the ball a few practice taps, it’s really only for show. He’s done this so many times its almost as natural as breathing.

One foot in front of the other, push off with the back foot, twist your hips, easy really.

He takes a breath and then, boom. Right cross, he can see the little counter in the middle of the machine shoot up. 60, 70, 80, even 90. And then..




He smirks as he turns back, walking past the gobsmacked bikers as he takes his seat opposite Heather again.

She gives him a questioning look, eyebrow raised.

“What’s that all about.”

Jason smirks, taking a sip of his soda before replying. “This is somethin’ we used to do, y’know to make some extra cash? The whole idea’s pretty basic, in most bars there was one of those machines. Most of em were rigged, but that’s besides the point.

Imagine this, a scrawny little 11 year old comes walkin’ into a bar, place is packed full of rough lookin’ folk. They’re all a few glasses too deep and tension’s running high. So, imagine the look on their faces when this bundle of skin and bones drops a quarter in one of those there machines, and tops the score.    
  


He can see the wheels turning, but she’s not quite there yet.    
  


“So yeah.” He continues. “All these  _ big, tough  _ guys suddenly feel like they’ve got something to prove, and before ya know it. The machine’s pretty much full on coins- either that or there’s a bar fight, didn’t really matter to us. We got paid all the same.”   
  
  


Heather bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s brilliant.” And Jason’s self satisfied smirk makes it pretty clear that he agrees.

And true enough, soon the first few guys walk over to the machine, half filled glasses still in their hands and profanities on their lips as they drunkenly push coins into the slot. She hazards a glance sideways, but Jason’s fully enraptured in the no doubt spectacular failure of the drunken guys, if the jeering that suddenly rings out from the still seated bikers is anything to go on.

Turning her focus back to the main spectacle, things are getting more and more interesting. Some big blonde guy’s got his arm thrown over one the guys that just stood up, and the increasingly reddening face the other guy has, combined with the amused chuckles that ring out gives her a pretty good idea of the conversation.

The sound of a hand hitting the wooden table draws her attention again, and she’s met with a sufficiently smug looking Jason tapping down on what looks like a 20 on the table.

“What’s this for?” If anything his smile widens.

“Wanna bet on who throws the first punch?”

Within a few seconds, a second- much neater 20 dollar bill joins it.   
  
“You’re on.”

It takes, generously estimated- Five minutes for hell to break loose, Jason puts his money on one of the nervous looking guys at the back of the group, whilst Heather puts her bet on the blonde guy that seemed to be at his boiling point before he’d even punched that thing.

The blonde guy ended up being involved in the first punch alright…. But he’d ended up on the receiving end of a sloppy, yet decently quick punch that had left him flat on his ass. She vaguely notices another man that looks like he’s made out of hair and testosterone pick up a chair before Jason pockets her 20 dollars, looking so many shades of  _ smug _ that she wanted to rip off his face. 

That train of thought didn’t leave the station, probably due to the fact her head was suddenly pushed against the table by a calloused hand. Before she can curse out whoever’s pushing her down because  _ how dare they _ and  _ why is this table sticky _ when that very same chair flies right over where her head had been moments prior and splinters against the wall behind them.

The next moment there’s a blur of movement and the bar has turned into what’s essentially  _ ground zero _ as tables and glasses fly through the air. She catches the telltale hideous sweater of the man she’d seen earlier moments before she sees a sedan roar off onto the road and out of view.

It’s then, and only then that she realizes that  _ hey, the spot next to her is empty. _ Which is followed by someone getting slammed through a table.

The next few moments are  _ utter, absolute chaos.  _ And she’s glad, for once, to have attended so many of Kurt and Ram’s parties, because those have a tendency to end like this. 

She keeps an eye on the seemingly ever-escalating melee as she slowly makes her way to the bar, the safest bet if furniture starts flying again, she reckons. 

Once behind the counter, she’s quickly joined by a waitress, seeming  _ way too calm _ with the shitstorm going on not five meters from them as she lights up a cigarette.

  
  


“Want one?” She asks, offering the pack to Heather.

She wordlessly accepts.

“So, this happen often?” She asks, taking a drag. The waitress, now identified as Jennifer shrugs. “Eh, you get used to it.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Heather mutters as she peeks over the counter. Jason seems to be having fun, if the smirk is anything to go by. 

“Damn.” Jennifer mutters as she joins Heather, both watching as the aforementioned raven haired boy slams two bikers’ heads together, the ruffians crumbling to the floor in a leather clad heap.

“Is it usually so… violent?” She asked, watching a glass shatter against a greasy scalp.

“Sometimes, but your boyfriend’s really bringing something new to the table.” The waitress muttered, watching the raven haired boy use a chair as a carpenter would a hammer. Unfortunately for the guy behind him, his head was the nail.

The sound of splintering wood becomes oh, so very quiet as she processes that statement.

“What?” the way her voice comes out a stone throw away from sounding like a deflating balloon apparently draws Jennifer’s gaze back to her, the older woman’s eyebrows lifting questioningly. 

“Where’d you get that idea from?” She hisses, looking around for people that might have heard that frankly horrifying statement before slinking back down behind the bar, sitting on the floor. 

Jennifer joins her a few seconds later, a confused expression on her face. “I mean, only makes sense doesn’t it? Place like this isn’t somewhere normal people go, what’s the problem anyways? Daddy doesn’t approve?”

“Can you  _ stop that? _ He’s my  _ brother _ .”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Heather replied. “God I’m never trusting Veronica for anything ag- AAAAH.”    
  


Both of them jumped as someone came crashing into the shelves behind them, before landing in a pile on the floor.

“Boss aint gonna be too happy with that.” Jennifer muttered, looking at the shattered remains of probably over four hundred dollars of alcohol as Heather hazarded a peak back over the counter.

Jason’s way-too-smug grin met her.

“Yo, things are wrapping up here. Wanna get out of here?”

Heather blinked.

Suddenly a shuffling behind Jason caught her attention.

Seemed like things  _ weren’t _ wrapping up.

“Uhh, give me five minutes.” He said, before taking a dive and quite literally  _ elbow dropping _ onto- hey that’s that guy that threw the chair at them.

The next few moments are spent simply watching the spectacle unfold.

She’s been around enough fights to know what to do, and what not to. A fair chunk of what  _ not _ to do comes to the forefront of her mind as she watches Jason slowly get surrounded.

His hands are lazily put to his side, almost in his pockets. He’s not even making a move to get something behind his back as slowly but surely he’s boxed in from all sides.

Heather’s about to yell out because she’s  _ not  _ going back home with an explanation of  _ oh my brother’s in the hospital  _ and  _ he tried to fight an entire gang all at once _ when Jason finally makes a move.

It’s not his posture, yet it is. Nothing moves, but  _ something _ changes. And then a smirk flashes across his features, all teeth backed by a promise of pain and something akin to perverse excitement.

It makes the hair on her neck stand up.

Something breaks, and she doesn’t know if it’s the clinking of glass or something else, but it’s as if time finally starts moving again.

There’s five guys around him, the glint of steel she spots from her hiding spot makes her blood run cold, and the way they jump him at once makes _ something _ akin to ice settle in her gut.

It’s over before what would undoubtedly have been a cry of “Run.” or “you idiot!” Can tear its way from her lips.

There’s a flash of green and the cracking of bones, there’s the sound of metal cutting through the air and flesh being hit.

And Jason is standing- the only one standing. Surrounded by groaning bodies and shattered glass.

And then he turns to look at her, and she just  _ freezes _ .

She remembers once, when her parents had felt remarkably charitable, when they’d taken her and Mac to the zoo, long before she’d come to know Duke or Veronica or even Jason.

She remembers running off ahead with the other blonde, laughing and whooping and not looking where they were going.

She remembers Mac going pale, hell she even remembers the exact sound the girl made, something in between a gasp and a sob.

And more than everything, she remembers turning around. And staring straight into the emerald green eyes of a tiger, not even a meter away.

That’s how she feels. It’s not being scared, it’s not being terrified or uneasy. It’s something deeper and she can’t quite describe the feeling. 

It’s like she’s looking at a predator, a hungry one, eyes filled with a promise of blood and death.

And just like that, that green is gone. And she’s staring at that familiar shade of blue as Jason walks towards the bar with an apologetic look and a hand in his neck.

“Sorry ‘bout all this, not exactly what I’d planned out.”

Jennifer appears from seemingly nowhere, lit cigarette on her lips as she shrugs. “Happens enough that the boss won’t mind too much, the liquor though. That’s something he’s gonna be pissed about.

He cringes. “Yeah that one’s on me, dude wouldn’t get off my back. How much?”

“I’d say about four hundred-ish?”

Heather stands there unmoving as Jason hands a small wad of cash over to the waitress, who thanks him with a wink and a smile, before something connects in her mind, deciding to focus on that instead of the sheer  _ whatthefuckery _ of the past minute or so.

  
  


“YOU THREW SOMEONE AT ME?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the first of two chapters focussing on the meeting itself, hopefully the second one will take a lot less time to come out than this one has.

**Author's Note:**

> well then, that's chapter 1 of the rewrite complete. I hope you all enjoy this 
> 
> as usual, I thrive on comments and the like and would much appreciate any and all criticism


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